


Blind Spot

by SciFiDVM



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Bass First Person Stream of Consciousness, F/M, Post- Fear and Loathing, You've been warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:53:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1275565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SciFiDVM/pseuds/SciFiDVM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bass has a blind spot, alright. And he knows exactly how big it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blind Spot

**Author's Note:**

> This lovely little tidbit of information about my favorite Civil War loving former President demanded a short story to be written.

God, she is such a kid. Of course we can’t just go straight back to Miles. No. She has to play with her new toys. Ok. Fuck it. It’s exactly what I would have done. But that still doesn’t make it any less stupid.

Parry. Slash. Advance forward a step. Elbow to the nose. Knee to the solar plexus. Backhand upward slash with the sword. One more down.

“A whole platoon? Really Charlie?” I can’t help but yell as three more set on me. That being said, Duncan’s, er, Charlie’s men are cutting through the Patriot soldiers like Miles or I had trained them. They’ll do.

Overhand strike. Jab sword into first guy’s chest. Jam my elbow into the guy behind me’s throat as I pull the sword out of the first guy. Kick other guy’s knee that he’s favoring. Spin and slash at guy behind me’s neck. He’s toast. Wow. He’s decapitated actually. Didn’t realize I put that much force behind that swing. Punch lands to my right cheek. Right. There’s still the other guy. Don’t get cocky. Hee. I just said “cock”. Slash. Slash. Advance. Elbow to the nose. Slash. Wipe blood from sword and step over the body as I move on.

Connor’s taking his sweet time dispatching that one guy that’s on him. I’m not gonna step in because he needs his pride and whatever, but that Patriot swings a sword like a girl. If he doesn’t finish him soon I am gonna do it to spare us both the embarrassment.

Suddenly a blur is crashing into my left shoulder and tackles me to the ground. I scramble to get a knife into the body as it weighs me down, but Charlie’s beaten me to it. I shove the dead weight of the khaki clad bag of meat off me and rock forward onto my knees. She actually has the nerve to stick out a hand to help me up as she smirks down at me. I take it, of course, but not because I actually need the help up. It’s just… Fuck. I don’t know. Aren’t there any more Patriots to kill?

“Christ, Monroe.” She’s actually looking a little concerned. “How big is that blind spot of yours?”

“You told her?” I bellow at Connor. That little narc. There are some kind of secrets it’s ok to spill to score a nice piece of ass. That wasn’t one of them. And why the hell hasn’t he finished off pansy boy yet?

Suddenly both of them are looking at me like I have two heads. At least Connor _finally_ managed to get a machete into that last guy. He comes loping over, looking to all the world like a gangly puppy running to meet his master. Gonna have to work on his swagger. Though he is the one that actually managed to get some tail on this trip, so maybe I need to rethink some things. And I also need to relax the death grip I’ve suddenly developed around the handle of my sword at that last thought. I’m not jealous. I’m not. I’m… not even convincing myself. Fuck. My. Life.

Now they’re both standing in front of me and laughing. At me. Before I can even ask what it is they find so fucking hi-larious, Charlie moves her right hand a bit and it becomes obvious that she’s been waving it back and forth in the few degrees of peripheral vision that I can’t make out.

“Nobody had to tell me.” She smirks.

I roll my eyes and stomp off toward the wagon. Really mature. I know. I just really needed to be somewhere else before I did or said something I’d regret. Honestly, in the past I’ve killed men for less. There was a time when nobody forgot that. Actually, I doubt that Charlotte has forgotten that fact at all. I just don’t think she cares. Or ever did. She has never been afraid of me, and it annoys the shit out of me and kinda turns me on in equal measure.

I climb into the driver’s seat on the right side of the bench at the front of the wagon. The men finish collecting weapons, supplies, guns and unspent ammo off the twenty or so Patriots they just slaughtered. It’s a pretty respectable haul.

“Good job boys!” Charlie’s voice rings out to my left.

They’re all cheering as they climb into the back of the wagon and she plops herself down next to me. I urge the horses forward into a walk and make for the trail that will lead us back to Willoughby. This again. There should be some kind of frequent wagoner miles for this stupid route. Not sure whether it was more awkward the first time when I was worried about her stabbing me in my sleep, or this time after having caught her with Connor.

“How’d it happen?” She’s asking like I have the slightest fucking clue what she’s talking about. Picking up on my confusion, she taps the outer corner of her left eye.

Great. We’re back on this. “Concussive blast from a grenade I let get a little too close to my head.”

“Or not close enough.” She’s giving me that same smug grin I was treated with for most of the ride last time we carpooled down to Texas.

“Big talk from the girl that just went through quite a bit of trouble to save my sorry ass.”

“Who said I was saving you? Maybe I did it all for Connor.”

I turn and give her a look with a raised eyebrow. She shrugs and sinks back against the bench seat. Having successfully called her bluff, this confirmation makes me suddenly feel like I’ve got a shot or two of whiskey making its way into my veins. The admission doesn’t seem to have the same effect on her and now the silence is getting awkward.

“How long have you known? About the blind spot.” It’s all I can think of to say in the moment, and I do need to figure out if I’m making my biggest weakness too obvious.

“Not long.”

“What gave it away?”

“Watching you fight. You always push your opponent to the right, you don’t square up evenly, and you startle more when someone comes at you from the left. Not to mention that if you have the choice, you always position yourself so that it’s Miles fighting off your left shoulder.”

Damn. Miles has taught her well. She may have even surpassed her mentor, because, as far as I know, he still hasn’t figured it out in more than ten years. If she’s picking this up, I’m gonna have to work on some stuff.

“But what really tipped me off…” She starts off almost cautiously. Seriously? I already feel like I’m putting a flashing neon sign pointing at the small edge of detached retina in my left eye when I fight now. How much worse can this get?

“All those times you think I don’t notice you staring at me from the corner of your eye… it’s always the right.”

Fuck me. I suddenly find the pattern in the leather of these reins in my hands very interesting. I’m just going to stare at that for a while. Or until the Earth opens up and swallows me. Whichever comes first. And there’s that awkward silence again. Damn, I hope she’s not expecting me to say something. I risk the slight glance in her direction. Oh great. Even better. She’s fucking smirking at me.

I know at least twenty-seven different ways to permanently wipe that smirk off her face with my bare hands. If you include the few random implements that are within reach right where I sit, that number goes up to forty-five. No, I could strangle her to death with the reins. Forty-six. She knows this, knows exactly what I’m capable of, but she also knows I could never do it to her. I’ll be damned if she hasn’t also figured out that she’ll never be safer than when she’s sitting here next to me.

Fine. I admit it. She’s gotten to me, gotten under my skin. She can disobey me, taunt me, humiliate me in front of everybody, do whatever she wants to me. She has somehow owned me from day one, and she knows it. And there is nothing I can do about it.

I take a deep breath, sit up straight, and focus my eyes out on the horizon ahead. I catch a glimpse of her smiling beside me before she leans back just a little bit more and out of my diminished field of view.

I have a blind spot, alright. And I know exactly how big it is.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been hard at work on Nontraditional Vows and Needs this whole time, I swear. The last chapter of Vows is just enormous (now well over 20,000 words itself), and every time I think I'm writing out the last scene in my outline, I decide that it needs two more scenes. I might get it finished before work tomorrow night, if not it will likely have to wait until next week. Why can't real life make time for writing instead of the other way around?


End file.
